


They, with a capital T

by mee4ever



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Draco Malfoy, Guilt, Happy Ending, M/M, Mental Instability, Paranoia, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Survivor Guilt, Talking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2017-09-28
Packaged: 2018-07-18 08:48:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7308226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mee4ever/pseuds/mee4ever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“... Potter?” He says, looking up from his note just as the door is flung open and Potter’s miserable figure appears in the doorway. He hauls Draco inside; somehow managing to throw Draco down on his back, on the floor and straddle him at the same time as he casts a spell to close and lock the five locks he has. As soon as he's wand isn't needed for locking them in, he points it at Draco’s throat, really sticking it right under his chin, his other hand grasping Draco’s collar.<br/>“Are you with Them?!” Potter screams. </p><p>Or the one where Draco works as an Auror and is handed the going-nowhere-case of one Harry Potter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Are you one of Them?

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure whether this is going, how long it'll become, if I'm good enough to continue or if this is utter shite; but let's see what happens, yeah?

_Auror Draco Malfoy_ ; sounds pretty cheeky, doesn’t it? Well, thank fuck for that, because it’s the only good thing he’s ever gotten out of this job.

He’s stuck with low priority, low risk, and straight out bloody _boring_ cases that basically aren’t even cases. He was accepted into Auror training, yes, and he was one of the few in his class to actually graduate but that doesn’t mean that the whole department - or the Wizarding World - is suddenly very fond of him. After years of wondering if they might even let him in, he’s not surprised by the reactions but he’s bitter that he didn’t think _this_ was a possibility. Being handed file after file with near to nothing, sent to houses for stupid brawls or sent to “crime scenes” that is long left and next to nothing to even report.

It’s a Monday briefing when things… change isn’t exactly the right word, but Draco can’t think of a better one. All Aurors are gathered in a conference room, a few things are ticked off a list (mostly it sounds like one of Dumbledore’s first-day-speeches; where not to go, new co-workers, closed cases). It isn’t until things actually are getting interesting when the head Auror starts listing _new_ cases that Draco starts to listen and it’s also around the same time that the meeting is interrupted. A wizard dressed in the secretaries robes steps up to the head Auror, who loses her trail and listens to the fierce whispers being told to her. She practically rolls her eyes and scans the room. Her gaze locks on Draco.

“Auror Malfoy,” she says and everyone twists around in their seats to get a look at him. He pretends he doesn’t notice them.

“Head Auror Eichen?” he answers.

“Follow Mr. Yvechen outside, will you? He’s got a case for you.” It takes all of Draco’s willpower not to stare her down or ask what the hell she’s on about because no one is allowed to leave briefings before they’re over, not even Draco who really hasn’t got anything there to do other than sulk. But he stands up and follows the wizard out the door and closes it behind him. Once outside, they turn to each other and Draco gets the shortest briefing and the largest case file he’s ever seen.

“It’s just the usual, he sent an owl again. Just check on him immediately and get back.” And then Yvechen is gone. Draco can’t help it now; he stares after the man as he walks off. Then he looks down at the file. He doesn’t think it’s worth flipping it open because whatever he’s in for it’s either going to be very, very complicated or someone's desperate attempt on making a case where there isn’t one.

He apparates to the address and it’s in a quiet little neighborhood, very British. The garden is completely overgrown and the general look of the house makes Draco think that this is just a prank and that no one actually lives here. Setting his shoulders and rolling his eyes, he steps up to the door and knocks. Recites the usual “I’m from the Ministry”-yada yada. There is just quietness meeting his statement, so he knocks again and leans over the rail to look inside the window. Draco catches a glimpse of someone behind the curtain and sighs. He knocks again, raising his voice as he repeats himself.  

“They sent me from the Ministry of Magic because someone on this address sent a distress call via owl. If you would please open up, Mr…” Draco finally starts flipping through the pages of his pad as there is rumbling inside. This is not only the biggest but also the worst case file Draco has ever seen, it just lists dates, times and the sentence “Nothing out or the ordinary”. He finally finds the page he's looking for and he stares at the name as he hears the lock clicking.

“...Potter?” he says, looking up from his note just as the door is flung open and Potter’s miserable figure appears in the doorway. He hauls Draco inside; somehow managing to throw Draco down on his back, on the floor and straddle him at the same time as he casts a spell to close and lock the door with the five locks it has. As soon as his wand isn't needed for locking them in, he points it at Draco’s throat, really sticking it right under his chin, his other hand grasping Draco’s collar.

“Are you with Them?!” Potter screams and Draco is too stunned to really grasp what he's talking about.

Draco has grown up around wands, he's been practicing dueling since before he was allowed a wand of his own and the intense training at the Ministry should've prepared him for any sort of situation where he first thing should _reach for it_ . But. Nothing has prepared him from a crazed out Harry Potter who _looks_ like _The Boy Who Lived_ but somehow really bloody _isn't_. His eyes are all wrong, not the colour or anything, but how there isn't someone there, and at the same time, there’s someone trying to make sense of something that isn't comprehensible by the human mind.

“What?” Draco manages to get out.

“Are! You! With! Them?!”

And Draco realises Harry asks about “Them” with a capital T but he doesn't understand _why._ “I'm with the Ministry of Magic,” Draco tries because he doesn't know what else to say. It’s the truth but the other man doesn’t look like he gives a shit about the real truth somehow.

Potter gives him a once over like he doesn't believe him for a second and Draco wonders if Potter even recognizes him. “You are wearing their robes,” Potter murmurs and then, “but that doesn't mean you _really_ are an Auror, does it! Are you trying to trick me?”

“Trick you into what, Potter?”

“Aha! So you _are_ tricking me!”

“I'm not tricking you!”

“That's what I would say if I'd be tricking someone too! I'm going to tie you up and wait till I hear back from the Ministry.”

“I _am_ from the Ministry! Here, let me show you the badge. It has my name on it and everything.” As Draco starts moving his hands towards his pockets, Potter pushes the tip of his wand deeper into Draco’s flesh and Draco is scared he might actually break the skin if he continues, so he stops moving and tells Potter to check his coat pocket. The other man looks like he's considering it for a few beats before he starts rummaging through Draco’s clothes. He gets the badge eventually, together with Draco’s _wand_ and Draco feels suddenly very naked. He swallows and tries not to panic as Potter doesn't move away but inspects Draco’s badge and then his wand _._ It looks like he might break it in half and Draco can't help but let out a desperate breath, but all Potter does is trying the flexibility and then he casts a few stars.

“Huh,” he says and looks down at Draco. “You really are Malfoy, aren't you? And you're with the Ministry?”

“Yes, Potter, nice of you to finally notice. Would you _kindly_ step off of me now?” Potter only humms a little as he gets up, doesn’t offer Draco a hand nor an apolagy. What had Draco even excpected? So Draco stands by his own means, brushes his robes off and offers out a hand for Potter to give him back his things. Potter does so after a moment's hesitation and Draco feels immensly more in charge when his wand slips between his fingers again. At least he can hex Potter into a full body lock if he tries to attack him again, that’s legal. Then Draco takes a real good look at the other man. It isn’t just his eyes that are off. His hair looks like it hasn’t been washed in forever, he has dry patches all over his expoded areas of skin, his clothes are too big and looks like he’s been wearing them for the same amount of time he hasn’t washed his hair. He smells like it too. Draco gets the feeling that he would’ve found this very funny had he been ten years younger, but now, he feels much more confused than anything else. He wants to ask, but, seeing the way Potter has been acting already, it feels safer to just follow proceedure.

Draco clears his throat. “As mentioned, I'm Ministry. You sent your owl?” Potter looks up from the floor he’s been staring at and violently shakes his head with a sly grin. It looks appalling.

“Oh, no, I didn't send _my_ owl, I sent another one so They wouldn't know it was me.”

Draco gets baffled by how Potter makes that statement sound like he’s figured out something very clever when in reality it’s the most stupid thing Draco has ever heard. “You added your address.”

Potter’s face falls. “Oh. Right.” Then he runs off to the kitchen.

Draco stands perfectly still for a moment and considers what the bloody hell to make out of all of this. The file he’s holding is proof enough that _this_ has happened many times before and that it has never ever been something that an Auror has been needed for, also the fact that Draco was sent here, this time, means that they have really given up on _The Golden Boy_ because Draco wouldn’t ever get a case like this otherwise. With someone so... important. He sighs and follows Potter through the house, tries not to accidently kick anything over as he does so. There are just so many things, Draco wonders how Potter managed to run and not have anything fall to the floor. Draco points to a chair and even if it feels weird to sit down in Potter’s kitchen, he asks anyway. “May I?”

The other man just waves a positive response and rummages the cabinets. Draco follows his every move, how he twitches at the slightest of sounds and how he keeps looking over his shoulder.

“Who are “They”?” Draco asks.

“Just, you know,” Potter answers with a fake ease that quickly disappears as he continues, “the people who're trying to kill me!” He slams a kettle onto the stove and starts it up the Muggle way, even if it would go much faster with a swift motion of his wand. Draco then wonders if it’s even safe for the man to own a wand.

“Potter, are you feeling all right?” The words are out of him before he can stop himself and Potter twists around and points his wand at him, in a way that says he’s forgotten he’s even holding it rather than he’s planning on using it.

“Don't try and turn this on me, Malfoy, I _know_ They are out there.” He doesn’t sound very convincing even if he sounds _convinced_.

At first, Draco just looks at him, but when he doesn’t even find a tiny bit of humor around Potter’s edges, he nods. “Okay then.”

Potter stares at him and lowers his arm. “You,” he says tentatively, “believe me?” Of course, Draco doesn’t really believe anyone is after Potter, not like that, but something is definitely screwing with him, whether it is his own brain or not, Draco hasn’t decided what he believes yet. Potter fills two cups with boiling water.

“I believe that’s what you believe,” Draco says and shrugs.

Holding out one cuppa to Draco, Potter nods. “Right. So you’ll help me, then?”

And it’s a stupid idea because Draco really doesn’t need this in his life; he doesn’t need Harry freaking Potter or his PTSD and paranoia or to be fueling the fire to whatever is going on or throw himself into something that he has to go at deliberately and carefully. He doesn’t need it. But, man, right now, he’s bored out of his mind and he’s never going to get another case like this. He _wants_ it. So all he does is accept the tea and say, “Sure.”

 


	2. Precautionary investment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a desire to make this a 10 chapter fic, all is figured out. just gotta write it, folks

They, meaning the Head of the Department and her secretary, look at him with doubtful and tired eyes when he tells them he wants to investigate the Potter-case further.

After leaving Potter’s ragged estate, Draco had gone back to the Ministry, to his office and read the whole file, back to back. It isn’t like he has a lot of other duties or open cases (that will lead anywhere anytime soon) and once he had been finished, he knew there wasn’t really a case here _either_ but he could probably pledge a few hours a week for it anyway. Which is what he’s currently going to argue for. It’s not going to go well. Potter’s file is _so thick_ but the actual material to work with is too thin to even try and read between some lines or find hidden clues. It’s pointless, but Draco feels obligated to try. What is the worst that could happen if he tried clearing up Potter’s mysterious “stalkers”?

The Head of the Department sighs before telling him not to bother. “The man is obviously delusional,” she says, shaking her head, “and there is nothing more to it. All you’ll get is Mr. Potter acting like he’s going to kill you until you’ve managed to convince him you’re not, he’ll get you a cuppa while you have a look around and nothing will be out of the ordinary. It’s not worth investigating. We’ve had dozens of people over there, all of which say the same thing: nothing is following him.” Draco hasn’t decided what to believe yet, because he hasn’t actually done that “look around”, he’s just listened to Potter and his ramblings but it does seem like there will not be anything to capture or kill.

Draco taps the file on the table before him as he says, “Why has St Mungo’s not been alerted of his state of mind? Judging by this case file, this has been going on for _years_.” Had it been any other individual, the person had been forcibly removed and placed into a private cell long ago, but it seems the Wizarding World still has a weak spot for the _Boy Who Lived_.

Eichen looks up at him for a second before she starts sorting papers to avoid eye contact. “We tried, it didn’t go very well.” She doesn’t elaborate what happened but Draco can imagine what would go down if someone would try to take Potter away from his home without him wanting to. Not a pretty picture. The man is fast and he seems to always be too conscious of the present surroundings, were he to be too shaken, he’d probably apparate himself far away from the scene and in his current mental state, it would most definitely mean he’d splinch himself. Draco wonders if that’s what actually happened that time they tried. The Head of Department instead of answering says, “I’m surprised you haven’t heard of this before now.”

Draco purses his lips. To be fair, he’s slightly surprised as well, it’s _Potter_ after all but all he says is, “People don’t talk to me unless they absolutely need to.”

She waves at him like she doesn’t really care either way and Draco isn’t surprised. She probably doesn’t like him either. He looks towards her secretary, who is back to blatantly ignoring him again after being surprised into looking at him when Draco made his case. He hasn’t said a thing so far. It might be because he’s embarrassed since Draco and he got on _really well_ somewhat months ago, or it could just be the fact that Draco is Draco Malfoy. Draco Malfoy’s status is nothing more than a crumble on the floor, and it appears _especially so_ if you’ve gotten a piece of his arse. He tries not to care. (But he kinda does.) What Draco _is_ surprised for real about though, is the general lack of commitment his colleagues display towards the boy who saved them all.

“But Harry Potter,” he says, “shouldn’t he be properly taken care of?”

Eichen gives him the slightest stink-eye.

“I mean,” Draco hurries to say, “we already know he’s going to send more owls, keep doing it because he’s done it forever already. You can look at this as a precautionary investment,” he tries. “How many times a month does Potter send his, or someone else’s, owl? Half a dozen? More?” She nods to the side, _something like that, yes_ , and Draco, encouraged, continues. “And how much unnecessary resources are used and how many people gets put in an unstable situation? If I start meeting with him a few times a week, you will set up a foul proof system; Potter will be looked after, I will have something to do and there will be no more mail, threats or similar coming in from our precious _Boy Who Lived_.”

It will work in everyone’s favour, as long as Draco convinces her. Draco will be allowed to leave the precinct without chasing non-existent leads on cases that don't exist either; he will just be spending time with Harry Potter instead. Which, to be real, he’s done an awful lot before seeing as they shared many classes in school and though they were tortuous at times, it’s nothing compared to filing stupid cases at the Ministry. Draco really doesn’t like his job.

Eichen leans back in her chair, and exchanges a glance with her secretary, who gives the slightest eye roll and then a shrug. Draco wants to pound on his skull and wonders why he ever fell into bed with that little piece of dirt, before Eichen clears her throat and nods. “Six hours a week,” she says and Draco barely manages to keep his features neutral. It’s almost a day worth, every week, that she gives him to a dead end case and if that’s not a true indicator that he’s truly down at the bottom of this shit hole, Draco doesn’t know what is. “Divide them however you want.”

“Will do, ma’am,” Draco replies and takes a step back after fishing Potter’s papers off of the table. “Very well, I’m off. Pleasure to see you again, _Terrence._ Ma’am.”

“Mr. Malfoy.”

Terrence does nothing but furiously blush.

It’s of no use going back to work after he’s finished with the Head of Department. It’s almost five which mean he can go home, no one will care about a few minutes here and there. Possibly, no one would care about a few _hours_ here and there, except for the Department of Economics because they would want to pay him less, but other than that… His colleagues are mostly older than him, save a few that walked the hallways at Hogwarts at the same time as him but he’s the only Slytherin that he knows who’s tried to get inside in the last couple of years. It’s not a mystery why he’s gotten to stay. They all need, or better yet, _want_ him, because it means they don’t have to do the boring cases themselves. They can just dump it on him and there’s not really anything he can say about it. He’s allowed the position, he’s allowed to work, there’s nothing in his situation that is not legally bound. He’s thought about quitting more than once, but his large ego and infinite stubbornness has worked feverishly against it.

Now, he turns the lamp off at his desk and makes way to the Apparating area and leaves for home. It’s quiet when he lands in his kitchen; like he’d expected it not to be, even if it always is. He shakes himself and puts the kettle on before shrugging out of his coat and then the rest of his clothes down to his underwear. Then he just stands. Drinks his tea, stands, and stares at his clean kitchen table in the darkness, feeling utterly pathetic. _Six hours a week_ , he thinks. Six hours to spend with one Harry Potter, full on 24 hours a month that Draco’s workplace thinks that he can just… use for nothing. Draco almost feels offended not only on the account of himself, but of Potter’s. Someone should be taking care of him, should’ve done so already. He wonders where the Golden Boy’s best friends are and what their bloody excuses are.

Draco has few friends. He’s alway had a couple close ones and a lot of loose people, but the close ones have gotten looser and the loose ones have disappeared completely. He blames himself, and everyone else most probably does too. In the war, he retired and drove everyone away. Some of them, all three of Blaise, Goyle, and Parkinson, speaks to him, sometimes visit, but not to a big extent. They’re scared of being seen interacting with former Death Eaters. Draco still doesn’t blame them. But he feels pathetic either way.

And now he’s going to try to help and befriend a mentally ill man he has tried to kill on several occasions. Isn’t life just fucked up sometimes?  


	3. Wand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoho hello, i'm updating???

Morning comes and Draco wakes up to the same sort of silence he fell asleep to. Extreme. He’s been thinking about getting some sort of pet, just to clear some of his loneliness but every time he’s thought of it, it has only made him realise more that he really is alone. Sure, he can bring pretty boys home, let himself take advantage of them and make sure he has another body next to him but in the long run, it’s just never enough. They’re usually Muggles or too drunk wizards and for the former Draco isn’t happy when they wake up and for the latter, the wizards aren’t happy when they wake up. It’s an ongoing cycle he’s almost given up because he hasn’t seen anyone for the longest time. What is the point when he can just fuck himself and not have to worry about stifled conversation in the light of day? It is only the sound of another human breathing that he really misses.

He gets to work and there’s absolutely nothing for him to do so he decides he’ll take on Potter immediately. There’s no point in pushing it forward or tiptoeing around it, he decides. It isn’t like anything will magically happen and Potter will be fine if Draco just sits on his arse.

Harry hauls him in this time as well, after having him standing, nagging, begging to be let in, on the stairs for almost ten minutes. They don’t tumble to the floor this time, though, no, Potter presses him to the inside of the door instead, with his wand just as deadly pointed to his throat.

“Why are you here what do They want you’re here spying on me I can tell but why are you pretending to be _him_?!” There is little to no air but Draco learned last time to not try to explain that he’s not there for _them_ and he also doesn’t reach for his wand.

“Pockets,” he croaks instead. Potter pats him down, after staring suspiciously at him for too long, and it’s very inappropriately a turn on; pressed up against a hard surface, hands on his body. Draco should be locked up. Harry finds his badge and wand in the same pockets as last time but he doesn’t seem very interested in the badge; he only gives it a quick look before stepping away from Draco and giving him room to collect himself.

“Could be fake,” he murmurs to himself and casts the badge aside and inspects the wooden stick instead,  inspects it with as great care all over again; feels the shaft, bends it, casts stars. Nods when he’s done, like it has passed his test.

“Draco Malfoy.” It is like he will not believe anything but the magic running through Draco’s wand. No appearance, no talk, no badge, no official robes. Draco knows of several occasions where Polyjuice potions have been used in Potter’s timeline but he thinks that if someone would be close enough to get a hold on all things Draco Malfoy, wouldn’t his wand also be easy to take and fake it being yours? In the light of Potter’s paranoia, Draco will not be the one to voice ideas like that but he wonders silently why the wand is so important.

“Harry Potter,” he says instead.

They sit down for tea, in the living room this time. It doesn't look like Potter does a lot of his living here, though, storage a more plausible explanation. It’s not a hoarder's nest, simply because Potter doesn't have enough stuff for something like that but everything in the room feels like someone picked it up from somewhere and then just put it down at first place in this room that they found. It’s a clatter, a mess, a mindless labyrinth. Draco politely sips his tea and Potter studies him. It’s undyingly more awkward than yesterday so finally Draco asks what’s up.

“They don’t usually show up twice anymore,” Potter says with a shrug. “Especially in a row. And I haven’t sent an owl.”

Draco nods slowly, he knows that after yesterday’s reading material but it still strikes him then how badly Harry has been treated. You have a guy who almost kills you when you walk in the door because he thinks _you’re_ going to kill _him_ and you do not think of the idea of sending the same person the next time to minimize the risk of repeating that, to build trust? He doesn’t answer Potter’s unspoken question of what he’s doing there but instead says, “How would you like it if I came here regularly?”

Potter folds his eyebrows a few times at the statement; it makes him look almost angry. He suddenly rises to his feet, starts pacing and throwing manic look towards Draco as he starts rambling. “How do I know you won’t try and hex me, what if They’ve infiltrated the Ministry, how will-”

“I’ll let you have my wand.” Potter stops dead in his tracks and puts a hand on top of his own that pokes out of his jean pocket.

“What?”

“I can’t hex you without a wand, so when I’m here you can have it. You recognize it, so there’s no question whether or not it’s mine, right?” Draco holds the tip of his wand so that Potter can grab it by the handle, which he does after a second of hesitation.

Then he takes a good grip on it, gives it a whip again and says, “It likes me, you know.”

Draco looks away and clears his throat. “Yeah,” he says. ”Yeah, I know.”

“Ollivander tried teaching me about wands, once upon a time,” Potter says, nodding his head to himself. “I was… sort of an apprentice for a while and one of the few thing I had time to learn before… I had to drop out, was how to recognize the Trace.”

“The trace?”

“Yes, the one that goes from the wand to its master.” Draco nods but he doesn’t really understand, and he doesn’t know if Potter is just rambling complete bull.

“This wand,” Harry says and holds it up, “this wand is yours, it’s very clear, but it is not _just_ yours.” Draco grips the armrest of the couch tight without meaning to and he wants to have his wand back again. Fighting the urge to just snatch it out of Potter’s hands, Draco asks what Potter means despite not wanting to know.

“Like I said, it likes me too.”

“Why?”

“I earned it.” Draco doesn’t know what that means either but he doesn’t want to look too stupid so he just goes with it.

“So, how about it, Potter?” he asks after a moment of silence.

Potter cocks his head. “How often will you be here and how do I know when you’ll be coming?”

Draco tells him every second day starting Monday, then Wednesday and then Friday and the weekend off, and Harry in return tells him with cheeks burning that he doesn’t have his days in order.

“Everything could be Monday. Even the day after Monday.” So Draco asks for a pen and some paper and once he’s gotten it he draws up a calendar for the month and he asks Harry what the first thing he does every morning is.

“Tea.”

“Alright,” Draco says and writes his initials on the days he’ll be there and crosses out the days that has already passed this month. “When you put the bag in your water, you cross out the next day in the calendar. If my initials are on that day, you know I’ll be here by ten. If they’re not there, I won’t come unless you send for me.” Potter looks at the calendar as Draco points and he looks a tiny bit frightened.

“What if I forget?” He fidgets with Draco’s wand and Draco wants to tell him to stop but forces himself not to.

“That’s okay, I’ll come anyway and we’ll just… manage anyhow.” Potter taps the calendar and then snaps it out of Draco’s grasp. He disappears with it and Draco sits back and watches him go, and then he can glimpse him in the kitchen, putting it up on the wall next to the fridge. The dark haired man looks so young doing it; like he’s drawn something he’s really proud of and his parents have given him permission to put it up. It makes Draco a tad uneasy, to see Potter just so… broken. The Golden Boy should be bursting with life and instead he’s bursting at the seams of reality, he should be married with a kid, he should be living his life, he should be _free_. Instead, he’s locked himself in a house he’s cannot take care of, unable to care for himself even, with a constant feeling that someone is out to get him. It’s not how it’s supposed to be and the feeling that washes over Draco at all of these thoughts is one he has a hard time to place. Harry places Draco’s wand in a seemingly empty mug (Draco wheezes) before entering the living room again with his hands folded and gaze unsure.

With a thin voice, he asks, “Tell me again why you’re doing this?” And Draco isn’t quite sure what to tell him.


	4. Always different

It’s more interesting than Draco would've ever thought to see Potter several times a week. First and foremost because Potter is genuinely glad to have him there, like he actually talks to Draco, asks him stuff, tells him things. It’s interesting to see the difference in Potter appearance from one week to the next because his life seems to be built around how severe his paranoia is for the day, for the week. Fifth day Draco knocks on Potter’s door, he’s not even thrown against it or the floor, but Potter simply opens the door and Draco just steps in and that is that. Draco finds himself thinking that Harry feels so _clear_ that day, he arguments how the Ministry’s systems are outdated for almost an hour and everything he says just makes sense, he’s showered before Draco arrived and he declines when Draco holds out his wand. Draco doesn’t comment. Two days later it takes Potter an hour to _open_ the door and he only stares at Draco like Draco will jump him at any time for the duration of the short visit and he doesn’t lower his wand for a second.

It takes Draco only a couple of visits to be certain there’s not really anyone who wants to do Harry Potter any harm. He confirms it the day after the day he’s allowed his wand because it’s the first time he can try spells to test the wards Potter’s house has, the day he can cast spells and see that they all come back to him with nothing to indicate someone’s been tampering with anything. The days before that has gone to talking about everything with Potter, asking what he’s seen, what he’s heard and when two weeks has passed, there’s just no denying that absolutely nothing is wrong. Potter is ill, but that is also it.

Mostly, Harry looks to be doing better after Draco’s been there. He’s on edge and scared most days when Draco shows up but it doesn’t take him a long time before he’s figured out how to remember their schedule and he meets Draco at the door and by the end of each visit he stands in on the stairs, talking until Draco must excuse himself and leave. It isn’t even like they get along all that great, they don’t, because Potter has all of these stupid things he thinks which Draco must question (like, who likes herbal tea better than a nice cuppa Earl Grey?) but in their bickering Harry seems to find ease. He laughs softly when Draco gets heated over turtlenecks or t-shirts and Draco is sure he brought up the subject simply because Draco is _wearing_ a tight fitted polo-neck that day. Personally, Draco thinks it suits him very well and judging by the way Potter’s eyes keeps flying towards his neck, so does he.

Draco doesn’t think much of it. There’s just no way either of them will ever try at something; they’re still Potter and Malfoy despite the fact that Draco now sees Harry more than he sees anyone else and if Draco has decoded Harry correctly, the same goes for him. Draco cannot see himself in the arms of the Chosen One for various reasons so he doesn’t dwell on it. (He doesn’t even admit to himself that most of those reasons has to do with professionalism and how inappropriate such a relationship would be.)

Head Auror Eichen asks for an update after three weeks. Once again, Draco doesn’t know if he should feel offended or not because it’s been a long time coming that she would want to have any sort of report since Draco has written several already. He tells her the truth, he’s reached the same conclusion as every Auror before him: the only person who’s out to get Harry Potter is Harry Potter himself. Yet, when she asks if he thinks it will be worth it to keep meeting up with him he answers _yes_ and she doesn’t even asks why, she just approves and moves on. Draco is left staring after her, feeling like neither him nor Harry matters in the slightest to this shitty fucking world.

“Do you ever just wonder why the hell you didn't just give up?”

Draco stares at Potter as he just goes on with his stacking of books, pretending that he didn’t just ask a fundamentally _wrong_ question. They don't do these sort of questions. It’s too loaded, one of which Potter must’ve thrown out casually and afterwards realized the gravity of; it goes especially clear as he makes the whole bookcase behind him tremble and Draco is positively sure Potter isn’t doing it on purpose. Draco doesn’t answer. Potter has his wand stashed in an ugly mug in the kitchen and Potter’s own pokes out of the back pocket of his jeans.

Draco clears his throat. “Why don’t you use some magic to sort those books?” he asks instead.

“Traceable,” Harry says, slightly too fast for Draco’s liking.

“Why don’t you use mine? It’s not traced.” Potter gives him a look before turning back to his books again.

“No.”

“I wonder very often why I kept going. I still think about giving up every day.”

Potter doesn’t turn to face him, but he does stare into thin air for a while, seemingly thinking, and relaxing because the bookcase is now completely still. They stay silent for a while, the pleasant sort of just being in the presence of someone else, before Draco starts asking about the magic again. He learns quickly that Harry hasn’t practised for months and months and Draco wonders for a second how he has survived before realizing that Harry was brought up in a magicless environment.

“Why haven’t you?” Harry asks, and this time, his eyes meet Draco’s in an unfathomable look of vulnerability. Draco is at loss for words. Why does he get out of bed in the morning, why does he go to work, why does he feed himself and why in Merlin’s name has he not just _stopped_ already?

“Spite,” he finally says and Harry looks confused.

“You live because of _spite?”_

“It’s an as good reason as any, ain’t it? I was given a mission I was doomed to fail and be killed for, so how spiteful isn’t it to live just because I survived? I was on the wrong side, I was brought up on the wrong side, I wasn't supposed to make it, so how spiteful isn’t it to prove everyone wrong? I work in a place where no one wants me, in a world where people doesn’t want to hear my name, spending time with a man that tried to kill me and who I’ve tried to kill in return, so how spiteful isn’t it to go do me every chance I get?”

Harry continues to stare.

“Why do you?” Draco asks.

Shrugging, Harry then says, “I guess I’m supposed to. Everyone died for me so… it wouldn’t be fair if I didn’t.”

Draco holds back his vicious “much of a life you’ve got” and nods instead. “Not everyone.”

“Plenty enough.”

“So, guilt? Guilt is what keeps you going?”

There’s a shift in Harry’s stance, in his eyebrows and suddenly he’s closed. It’s not hard to read him, Draco has had a knack for that since he was eleven years old but when Harry says he thinks it’s time for Draco to take his leave, Draco still feels rather surprised. Harry hasn't actually ever kicked him out before; not _ever_ and Draco’s been coming here for quite some time now, several times a week for over a month. He realises that he must've struck a really bad chord, without actually intending to. There hadn’t been even a hint of judgement in his words, he’d honestly just been curious to know the truth. It seemed Potter had taken it differently.

Draco does not overstay his welcome. Potter brings Draco’s wand from the kitchen and walks to the door before Draco has even had the chance to go there. It feels stiff and awkward and Draco feels a sudden urge to apologize but he figures it would only make things worse. Mostly because he doesn't do apologies very well; doesn't even like them, normally.

They don’t even say goodbye and Harry locks the door as soon as he’s given Draco his wand back and Draco hesitates on the stairs, wondering what will happen in two days time when he’s supposed to come back. Will Harry not open the door, not because he’s panicked about being murdered but because he feels like Draco isn’t worth it anymore? Is this how they end things? It feels like an itch once Draco goes back to the Ministry; how one misstep could cause such a reaction, such a cold demeanour and how such a little thing can make Draco go around feeling anxious. He’s not even entirely sure _why_ he feels anxious. He’s surely stepped on toes before without fearing the consequences but now, with Potter, things are different.

Aren't they _always_ different with him?


	5. Life and death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually wrote another chapter? like what?  
> though the halfway point, i am proud. be proud of me too.

It is two days later when Draco realises that he did indeed screw up, just not in the way he’d thought. Because when the door opens on a whim before Draco’s even knocked on it, Potter is standing with his wand raised, he looks like he’s been crying for the last forty-eight hours and shaking like he hasn’t slept during them either. They stare at each other wordlessly for a long while. Then Draco can see his nostrils flare, and his jaw tighten. For a second, Draco prepares to be cursed. There is no way he can reach for his wand now and not scare Potter into hexing him immediately so he just lets it happen. Though, he doesn’t get cursed. Instead, Harry turns his face to the floor, like he’s surrendering even when Draco is just standing there, ready to take whatever Harry wants to hit him with and Draco thinks of a thousand different spells that he could’ve used, but Harry lets his wand slip out of his grip and onto the floor.

Harry Potter is crying.

Draco Malfoy is not cursed, but he’s still stunned.

The first couple of minutes, Harry stands, muttering in between sobs and with his body language shielding away from Draco; though he does not make any effort to leave or make Draco do so.

Absurd is just the start. Draco doesn’t think he has never actually seen Potter cry before, and definitely not in such an uncontrollable nature, so raw, so devastated.

“I…” Draco starts saying but he doesn't know what to say. So he says that. “I don’t know what to… to say, or do, Potter, this is... “ He doesn't even know what it is. It feels ridiculous and unpredictable, almost scary. Draco thinks of the shaking bookcase, and the pent up magic Harry is carrying around, and none of it makes Draco feel any bit less uneasy.

“This is my _life_ ,” Harry says then, like it’s been bugging him for ages. “My _life,_ Malfoy, and I don’t know why I live it.” Had Draco not been pondering his last visit for every waken moment the past couple of days, maybe he hadn’t connected the dots; but now it’s inevitable. Draco literally managed to talk Harry into an identity crisis and questioning his own will to live with one single bloody sentence. It feels like utterly too much responsibility for him to shoulder.

Then Potter continues. “I started thinking, you know, about what I said, about them and that I _am_ because of them but then I really started thinking and I just don’t think they’re… enough? I don’t- I didn’t- There-” he looks for words he obviously can't find and Draco takes the moment to decide whether or not it is a good idea to stay. It isn’t. He steps in and closes the door and does so anyway. He doesn’t know what this means, what he can do or even if he should, but he feels that if he leaves now, maybe there’s going to be no one to come back to tomorrow.

“I mean, if living for the dead isn’t enough, I would want to live for the living, right? I should want to do it for Ron and Hermione, and-”

“Harry.” And Harry holds up, stares at him, eyes wide. “Stop being such a big buffoon for a second.” The staring doesn’t get any less stare-y as Draco pushes the hair out of Potter’s face so he can look the other man in the eye as he continues. “You should want to live for _you_. Not because people made choices you can do nothing about, not because people wants to have you in their lives, you should want to live because you’re a person who has been through hell and now have your chance to do what you want, to _actually_ live. It’s Harry’s life, not the Boy Who Lived, not the Chosen One, not them or those best friend/survived son/hope personified; not even Harry Potter. Just, Harry. Just you.”

It’s not until he’s done that he gets scared of the close proximity of the other man, of the extensive eye contact, of the words he’s just uttered. He’s standing just in front of him, and with a sort of excusing breath, he takes a step backwards, staring the floor into oblivion.

“I’ve never… known how to do that,” Potter says. “I know how to survive, but not how to live and I don’t even know if I want any of it anymore. I just… don’t know.”

Draco shakes his head, slowly. “You don't want to die, Harry.”

When Harry stares at him this time, Draco must wonder if it is because of the sentences in themselves or the fact that Draco calls him ‘Harry’ that makes him do so. It hadn’t surprised Draco himself as much as it probably should’ve. Sometime during these last few weeks, he’s come to _think_ of Potter as _Harry_ sometimes, so saying it out loud doesn’t feel all that strange.

Tentatively, Harry says, “What?”

“I said, you don’t want to die.”

“How could you possibly know that?” he asks, voice gruff and it’s a miracle it even holds.

“Because… you’ve been sure people have been conspiring to kill you for years and you have never given the thought of letting them, you’ve gone every way possible to contact the Ministry every time you’ve felt threatened, you’ve wrestled me to the ground more times than I can count on my two hands because you’ve not wanted me to kill you. There’s just no way…” He takes a breath and finishes, “You do not want to die.”

“Oh.”

He looks like Draco has just brought his world to a stop, where it has before spun in a spiral downwards. It’s funny how so much in their lives revolves around the little nothings and the little nothing until all of a sudden it's life or death. Just like that, they’re on the edge, hanging on with nothing but their fingertips. This, however, is the first time Draco has really reached over that ledge and offered Potter help to get up.

Draco takes another breath before he asks, “Tea?” and without waiting for an answer he stomps off to the kitchen. Slamming with water and cups and the kettle, doesn't make him relax but it does make him less able to think about all the things he’d just told Potter.

It takes Harry a while before he joins, long enough for his tea to have gone pleasantly drinkable and Draco pushes the cup towards him. He himself has already downed two cups just to have something to focus on. This day has progressed into something very far from what Draco had imagined and he feels at loss. What are one even supposed to do in this sort of situation?

“How you doing?” Draco asks after Potter’s picked up his cup.

Embarrassed, he replies, “Dying slowly.” He then snorts. “You know what? I’m dying, but it’s actually reasonable paced.”

Draco shakes his head, a small smile he lets slip upon his lips.

“Why do you care?” Harry asks.

Draco almost responds with that he, in fact, doesn’t, but instead he says, “If Harry Potter ends his own life when I’m supposed to protect him, I wouldn’t do my job very well now, would I?” He would care if Harry died. It doesn’t make it easier to accept the fact, when Potter obviously has understood as much as well.

Harry smiles at that. “That’s the worst excuse I’ve ever heard to justify caring for another human.”

“You’re the worst excuse.”

“But you still care.”

“Piss off, Potter.”

“I think I’d care if you died too.”

“Glad we cleared that out,” Draco says and turns around to fill another cup. He’s not blushing, he tells himself. And Potter’s delirious. He’s ill and paranoid. It’s all make believe. Draco knows better but he pretends not to. It’ll be easier that way, for both of them. It’ll be the easiest on him because Potter has been in this state for a long time, he’s never allowed himself help and Draco knows for as long as Potter doesn’t even acknowledge that he’s ill, there’s no way they could ever… be _more._ Something _different_. Not to say that’s what they want, but Draco thinks that maybe, maybe, it actually is?

He turns to Harry again and they both avoid looking for too long. Draco stays, they talk, Harry chugs tea and Draco pours more for him. It’s domestic. It’s a pipe dream never to happen and Draco only lets himself wobble in it because he knows it’s going to be gone tomorrow. Tomorrow, Harry will believe Draco’s sent to kill him and this… bubble will burst along with it. There will be more tea and more banter, Draco will care and maybe Potter will too, but it won’t be like it should be. Like Draco has realised he would want it to be.


	6. A chance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> didn't think this fic was still going did ya

It takes a bad day before Draco completely finds himself in the thought that this, whatever this might have been, never _will_ be anything else. It takes Potter digging nails and a wand into Draco’s flesh again, and Potter’s eyes going around his face, the room, out the window, and then it takes Harry being calm and collected again just to see how Potter’s trust in Draco never reaches more than a few days at a time, and then they’re back to suspicion. Draco can take it, and he knows even if it’s not the best scenario, the routine is good for the Golden Boy. To give him some stability in an otherwise so messy life.

Another week rolls by, just as many of the ones before. Good, bad, ugly, calm. Never the same, always the same. Draco doesn't exactly neglect his normal work but he pays it little attention and he often forgets what he has done once he has let go of a file. Some afternoons roll past without him even realising it, because he’s stuck in his own thoughts. It’s not particularly good, but Draco doesn’t care. He can’t find it in him to care when no one else cares about it either. What he does care about, or better yet, who, is Harry. Draco finds it almost annoying how little he can do, how little his effort is making. He would like to help Harry _more_. Make him see that how improved his life could be if Harry would allow himself the help he needs but Draco doesn’t know how to start up that conversation, how to keep it going without turning it into a bad one. He just doesn’t know how to handle that sort of thing in any way. He’s an Auror, not a psychiatrist; there’s a reason for that. So he just keeps up, keeps trying with whatever he’s got.

What he doesn’t really expect, is that Harry will try to change things.

It doesn’t start bad, it actually starts well: Potter opens the door and lets Draco in, not wanting his wand and everything feels like a good day. As Draco closes the door with his shoulder, he suddenly has Harry crowding him, not really pressing him against the door but close enough so that Draco presses himself to it. Potter has never really pretended that nothing has been wrong to then suddenly change his mind; his paranoia has been stronger than his mischief-gene, so this turn of events makes Draco uneasy. Harry doesn’t give him the Look, the “who are you and what do you want from me?”, but there’s something in his eyes when he searches Draco’s face. It’s like fire, and almost like hunger. Like the sort of power one has but generally controls and now, now Harry has let go of the control.

Draco almost loses his breath when Harry leans forward, but he has enough room to squeak, “Don’t do it, Potter.”

Harry doesn’t, but he looks like a four-year-old being told “no dessert”. And he doesn’t move away. “You don’t hate the idea,” he says. Damn him, because of course Draco doesn’t hate it; he friggin loves it, but it’s not the idea that’s the point. It’s the execution of said idea. It’s the aftermath of it. And it's not even just to protect himself from the shit show it would inevitably become, but also Harry. Because Harry doesn’t deserve to be treated in the way Draco would treat him; he deserves equal footing. Draco wants badly to be able to give it to him but as the situation looks, there’s no way he can.

“I can’t,” Draco says but he doesn’t know how to continue, how to explain all that he feels and he doesn’t even know if it would make sense if he tried. He wants this, them, he can acknowledge that, but like this, he knows he won’t feel good about it and it’s _supposed_ to feel good.

“You think you’d take advantage of me.”

The Golden Boy is clever, Draco must give him that, and when not deep down in paranoia, he’s also very self-aware. It’s almost freaky, because on other days, he doesn’t even understand that there are no such thing as a They with a capital T.

“I think,” Draco says after taking a large breath, “that you deserve giving _yourself_ a chance, before you give me one.” A chance at a real life, at recovery, at living, and loving without holdbacks but the words stop on Draco’s tongue. They’re somehow to real for him to say. Draco also thinks that he wouldn’t be able to actually have Harry like _that_ for a couple of days and then lose him to his own mind the next and to move back and forth between that. It wouldn’t be fair, he wouldn’t like it. They both deserves something fully committed and this wouldn’t be. Not now. Maybe, not ever.

Harry’s gaze is resolute, but all he says is, “Okay.” He moves back, looking to the floor and Draco steps away from the door, brushing off his clothes. He feels like maybe he can’t breathe, but then he takes a breath and it actually works. It feels unreal that on some levels him and Harry Potter has gotten close enough that the Golden Boy wants to kiss him. How have they even gotten here? How has the universe spun them this way and let them have this, without letting it be permanent and possible? How had Draco allowed it to happen?

“I’m sorry,” Draco says and Harry snorts.

“You’re sorry?” he asks. “That’s gotta be a first.” He says it with an almost teasing voice, but the fun is just not really there. Draco gives him an experimental smile. Harry lifts the corner of his mouth to return it but it looks more like he’s just trying rather than smiling. It makes Draco’s heart feels too small, and he doesn’t know what to do about this. If he’s supposed to say something, if he’s supposed to leave, if he should simply go and make some tea. It’s a pressing silence, it makes both of them twist where they stand. They don’t do awkward very well.

Harry breaks the silence by quietly asking, “Am I really that ill?”

Draco wants to hug him, to hide him, to feed him love and never have him feel anything remotely bad again. “Yes,” Draco says, because he thinks this Harry with both feet on the ground will be able to take it, will understand and actually believe him. Harry nods again and Draco wants to tell him once more that he’s sorry, but it’s a sadness that stems out of things that are completely out of Draco’s hands and Draco doesn’t think that Harry would appreciate his pity. They’ve come too far and seen too much for that.

“I don’t like this,” Harry says and he sounds so small, so childlike and Draco steps forward and puts a hand on his upper arm. That, he must allow himself, allow Harry to have. Harry doesn’t look up at him, but he does place his own hand on top of Draco’s, desperately clutching. Draco hopes that it’s somewhat comforting, that it is steadying.

“It doesn’t have to be this way,” he says. Harry doesn’t in any way acknowledge this statement, so Draco lets it be. It will be of no use to argue with Harry at this time, and he doesn’t want to either. Mostly he would just like them to get back into their normal routine; tea and banter. It doesn’t feel like it’ll be that kind of that day. So they just stay there, Draco watching Harry as Harry just stares down at his feet, their hands clasped together, somehow grounded and at the same time more floating than ever before.  

It is hard to leave, but Draco eventually has to. He leaves Harry with the kettle boiling, a tea bag in a mug, Harry propped up on the kitchen counter and he just watches as Draco bids his farewell. Draco doesn't push his luck, he hasn’t talked anything more about therapy or gone anywhere near the subject. He thinks that Harry must take that step himself, be willing to seek it out himself because otherwise it will just not be much of a help to him.

“See you,” Harry says when Draco’s already out of the kitchen, like he hadn’t meant to say goodbye at all and then changed his mind for some reason.

Draco takes a step back. “Yeah, I’ll see you in two days.” Then he leaves. It feels heavy and clouded despite the sunny day and when he gets back to the office, the only thing he wants to do is apparate back to Harry. He feels hollow and possibly obsessed, but then again, being obsessed with the Boy Who Lived isn’t exactly something Draco is unused to. He can handle it. He hopes.


	7. A clap on the back and some praise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sometimes i write, who knew

Draco comes to the department the next morning and everyone he meets congratulates him. For one, it’s disturbing, but then he doesn’t have time to ask anyone why they do, which leads to the second, he doesn’t know why they do it. Everyone’s in a hurry, and it is frankly also a bit embarrassing to have to ask. He should probably know already what it is that he has done. He just… doesn’t. Once he goes into the desk area of the Aurors, everyone stands up and _applauds_ him and then there is just no way he can go on without actually knowing what the bloody hell earns him such treatment.

He doesn’t really want to go to Eichen, but she’s one of the few people who doesn't openly despise talking to him, so he does anyway. She also is his boss, so hopefully, she’ll know more than Draco. The sudden change from everyone low key hating him and only looking at him because they have to, to general praise and good riddance targeted towards him, he thinks maybe it’s all an elaborate prank and that if nothing else, Eichen can at least try to get everyone to stop. When Draco enters her office after a short knock, Terrence is there too of course. Draco ignores him (Terrence probably ignores him right back, but he surely listens because the fucker is a gossip if Draco’s ever seen one) and Draco sucks up his pride for a second before asks what it is that he has actually done.

Eichen cocks her head at him and then huffs a small laugh. “You’ve closed one of the Ministry’s oldest, still open, cases,” she says like that somehow would explain everything. It really doesn’t. Draco shakes his head in confusion. “Mr. Potter signed himself into intense care at St. Mungo’s this morning, stating you as one of his three emergency contacts,” Eichen explains then. Draco can feel his mouth fall open and Eichen squints at him. “I believe that’s worth a clap on the back and some praise, do you not think so, Auror Malfoy?”

Draco closes his mouth, but is left speechless. That his... _talk_ with Potter last night struck such a chord in the other man that he sought out professional help is so beyond Draco he doesn't know what to do, to think, to act. To Draco, it had been more of a “hope he doesn’t freak out now”-scenario rather than anything else, but it seems like maybe that was the right approach. Maybe what Harry needed was nothing grand or spectacular, maybe he just needed to know that he isn’t quite in the place he could be, and that there are options to help him.

“Maybe so,” Draco finally responds after swallowing down everything he’s feeling and making his voice sound even. Maybe so? More like: absolutely not but Draco doesn’t feel that he can say that. If Harry really did it, on his own machine, it must mean he himself found it to be the best thing to do; it has nothing to do with Draco. At least, Draco surely hopes it hasn’t. He doesn’t know if he can be that person for Harry, he certainly doesn’t want to be. They, as a duo, would be too unstable for such a thing.

“I know of your previous history,” Eichen says, dragging Draco away from his thoughts. “From school and the war,” she waves a hand, “so I think it’s very admirable that you’ve managed to form such a _bond_ you’ve obviously formed over the last couple of months.” Draco hopes that his ears don't turn pink.

“What a ‘bond’,” Terrence mutters.

“Excuse me?” Eichen turns to her secretary and gives him a friendly raised eyebrow. Draco wonders if there’s something in her expression that Draco cannot pick up on because when he looks to Terrance, the man smirks.

Shaking his head, Terrance says, “No, nothing, I just find Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Potter’s ‘bond’... intriguing.”

Draco gives him a cold stare. “Jealous?” he asks and Terrence finally looks at him, eyes wide and with a furious blush.

Eichen chuckles. “C’mon, now, Auror Malfoy, no need for that.”

Draco wants to give Terrance a piece of his mind, tell him to mind his own bloody business and not jump to conclusions when he doesn’t know _anything._  It would probably just fuel a rumour Draco hopes has yet to start spreading. “Beg you pardon, Head Auror,” he says instead, turning back to her. “I’m very glad I could be of service and I do hope Mr. Potter recovers. Until then, I believe I’m going back to my normal schedule?” It makes him sag a little, he doesn’t want to do that. Ever since he was able to go over to Harry’s a couple of times a week, his life has become interesting again. Now, he’s very happy Harry wants to get help and he wouldn’t really change that if he could, but he can’t help but feel disappointed because now everything is just going to go back to normal, boring, Ministry wash-ups.

“Indeed,” Eichen says after a slight hesitation. “I will send Terrence with some cases before lunch.”

Draco nods, trying not to be disappointed that nothing has changed. He excuses himself and leaves, Terrence death glare in the back of his neck.

There’s a sort of emptiness when he sits down by his desk because even if today isn’t one of the days he would have left for Harry’s, he now knows that he won’t be doing it tomorrow. Or any time again. It’s egoistic, all of it, and he tries not to dwell on the fact that he’ll miss Harry an awful lot.

It’s just… Harry has made everything so much more bearable. Despite the unruly behaviour, the paranoia, the slamming into walls and poking of wands, Draco has thoroughly enjoyed going over there, to spend time with him. To banter with him for an hour while sipping tea has been the highlight of his weeks, and as much as it pains him to say it, as much as it is humiliating to realise how boring his life must be, that is the truth. And now, Potter will go get better, whereon he will no longer have any reason to see Draco and therefore: will not want to. So yes, Draco is going to be pouty about that and hate his job even more because he’s just lost the one thing in his life that has been anywhere near fun. He’ll live. He just would like to not have to do it so boringly.

The day rolls on, as do the week and the month, and Draco is not wrong. He’s bored, he’s still on desk duties, he picks up people’s shit and he deals with the most godawful cases that nobody else wants. The praise, the clap on the back, lasts for about thirty-six hours and then, then Potter and Draco is history. Someone else closes a difficult case, focus shifts back to normal. The only thing that has really changed, is that now Draco is missing something rather than he yearns for something else. It sucks dragon’s balls and for the first time, he really considers quitting. Is this what he’s going to do for the rest of his life? Push papers at the Ministry? Get pushed down by other officials who cannot see him as an equal? Really? Is Draco Malfoy going to be that person? When another week is over and done with, and he still hasn’t quit, Draco starts to wonder if maybe he is. Maybe he’s always been a pushover and maybe that’s just the life he’s going to get. Where else is he going to get a job? Who else are going to hire him? He’s an Auror, he doesn’t know anything else, at least not something that he can work with.

There’s one little sliver of hope, though. One of which Draco doesn’t think, doesn’t speak, doesn’t even really believe but yet, it is the one thing that keeps him from getting up, leaving and never coming back. It is the one thing that makes him swallow instead of shouting when co-workers hand him ridiculous files or talk a little too loudly behind his back. It is small, it’s a pipe-dream, but Draco finds - in the fleeting moments he later represses that he has acknowledged - that it feels better than spite. Draco knows that being in this position will be the best place for him to be when, if ever, Harry comes back. Draco will have the small advantage of circling back to his old case then, just to see how everything turned out. It’s pathetic and it’s sad, it’s egoistic and it’s shameful. Draco doesn’t care. The thought of just one moment, one meeting with Harry, Draco powers through, one stack of files at a time. One cold case after another. Day in and day out, month after month. He tells himself, just one more, and he doesn’t know if he means one file, one day, one month, one year. Just one more, just hang on.


	8. Two words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> by popular demand and a very heart felt message, next part

There is a note on his desk and the two words make Draco turn on his heel to leave the Ministry at once. He doesn’t know who wrote it, who took the time and knew that it would be in his interest, and care enough about them. It doesn’t matter. His heart is beating too fast, he doesn’t know what to do with his hands; he had not expected this - wished, hoped, dreamed, but not expected - and now it has happened. 

It’s been almost eight months. 

Draco practically runs to the designated apparating area and to be sure he won’t actually splinch himself, he has to take a moment to breathe before he spins out of the Ministry. He collects his thoughts and pushes every single feeling away and replacing them with the address. It’s not as easy as it should be. In fact, it’s not easy at all; it’s harder than it has been since he got the apparating licence. He cannot stop thinking about two scrawled words, so innocent in themselves but magnificent for Draco.  

_ Potter’s out. _

He lands on the steps just outside the door and Draco wonders when the wards were taken down for him. Because they’re still there, he can sense them, but Draco has access in a way he hasn’t had before. Knocking on the door, Draco doesn’t know what he’s expecting. He hasn’t heard anything from Golden Boy since he went away to St. Mungo’s, progress or back steps, nothing he’s heard. He doesn’t know why Harry’s out, and he doesn’t know if it’s such a good idea to come here, now, immediately. He doesn’t think he could’ve kept away even if he wanted to and then the door opens.

Harry Potter has no hair. Or well, he has  _ little  _ hair; it is buzzed short. It takes Draco by such surprise he just stares at that for a moment before he realises how rude he is and then he moves his gaze down to Harry’s eyes. He’s watching Draco with a soft expression, all too unfamiliar to Draco to be completely comfortable with, especially since Harry looks so collected and at peace. 

“Hellu,” Harry says and his mouth turns into a smile, and it follows up all his features, goes to his eyes and Draco likes the way happiness looks on him. Draco likes the way happiness caused by  _ Draco  _ looks on him.

“Potter,” Draco says and Harry invites him in while shaking his head fondly. “Apologies for just barging in.” 

“Anytime,” Harry says and he sounds like he means it. Draco looks at him when he leads the way to the kitchen. He looks… very normal. School-Harry. Save for the hair, it’s nothing much that has changed; he still wears clothes that are too big for him, he’s still an inch taller than Draco, he walks the same way. He doesn’t have the suspicious lurk, but he keeps throwing glances at Draco over his shoulder. 

“Tea?” he asks despite knowing Draco never says no to a cuppa. Draco nods, suddenly not knowing how to speak, what to say. Harry doesn’t ask why he’s there or why he’s come now, and Draco’s not exactly sure himself so he’s glad. He just… needed to see him, see that he’s real, that he’s back and now, when all of that is resolved, Draco is just so content being here. Despite the weird situation, despite feeling like maybe he should leave. Draco is just totally fucked. 

Harry hands him herbal tea with a smirk and Draco rolls his eyes. It is a testament to how much Harry has been present during Draco’s visits and it makes Draco feel more at ease. Like maybe at least some parts of their friendship have been real to Harry as well. 

“You look… well,” Draco says as he sits down and Harry doesn’t spare him a second before he returns the favour by telling Draco that he looks like shit. Then they’re off. 

It sounds more like school, but it looks more like their adult situation. They throw insults like it’s nothing, the difference between now and school is that their laughs are genuine and they smile rather than get angry. Heated, yes, but they have found themselves well enough in this, and each other, to know that it’s just messing around. It’s liberating. Draco feels like his world is spinning a bit faster, is a bit brighter and he couldn’t stop his mouth from curling upwards even if he wanted to. 

An hour rolls by quickly and they catch up without talking about anything they’ve done since they last saw each other. Draco’s life has been slightly miserable and Harry, well, Harry’s life must have been something else. Draco doesn’t push it, doesn’t question or ask, he figures that some things are best for Harry to disclose himself, if he wants to. But when Harry reaches out to touch Draco’s hand and then lets his fingers stay on top of Draco’s, Draco must ask one thing. He waits, though, lets Harry rub his thumb over Draco’s knuckles for a while and watching Harry pretend that he’s not doing exactly that. 

Draco doesn’t want to ruin the moment, he would very much like them to stay in this bubble forever, but he knows it’s of no use. The bubble  _ will  _ burst and Draco would very much like it if they didn’t go down with it. So he takes a breath. He clears his throat. And he asks. “You didn’t do it… for me, did you?”

Harry looks down and retrieves his hand, not because he is scared off, but because he needs the distance, then he nods and shrugs at the same time, making it very unclear what he means so Draco just keeps looking at him until he sighs and explains. “At first, maybe. But it didn’t take a long time to realise that you were just the catalyst rather than the real reason.” He glances at Draco and finishes, “I might have gone in there because of you, but I came out for me.” 

Draco nods. He guesses that’s good. For whatever reason Harry would’ve gone in, whether be love, or maybe just the potential of such a thing, it is not what made him realise it was for  _ him  _ and not what made him focus on himself. It  _ is  _ good. That Draco was merely a push, then Harry must’ve worked through many things after that, dragged himself and carried himself once the burdened eased. Harry has gotten better for himself, and that’s the only thing Draco can ask for. Draco feels his shoulders relax and he smiles for a brief moment. Then he cheekily asks, “In just how many ways have you ‘come out’?”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Enough,” is all he says and Draco doesn’t know if it’s a command or an answer, but it anyway dictates a bigger smile on his lips that he hides by rubbing his nose. 

They do not touch any of the matters further; Harry keeps his hands, recovery, sexuality and mental status to himself and Draco finds himself thinking that it’s good too, because they have time to get to all of that later. There’s no rush. He doesn’t know if it’s true but he hopes that he’s right, that they’ll have time for anything, everything. He wants them to.

“What now?” Draco asks. Harry looks up, and he must find a different question than he first anticipated because he looks away again as if the answer he had is no longer the one he can give. 

“This, I guess,” Harry says and waves a hand around. “Want to get my house in order.” The look on his face tells Draco that it’s a task Harry feels slightly overwhelmed about, and by all rights, Draco feels overwhelmed just  _ thinking  _ about having to clean it. 

“Do you need some help?” he asks anyway. When Harry gives him a questioning eyebrow, Draco just tells him that he can surely get his hours a week back to be here. Like Eichen could deny him a month or two of that? The precautionary investment has worked out in everyone’s favour, now she should be easily convinced that a follow up is in order. So Harry accepts. It brings a quiet tension and a tingle to their conversation, a possibility and a fragility of that. To Draco, he still feels like he has both his feet on the ground and that he has more stability than he’s had in ages. They’re going to get there, and despite not knowing where the fuck “there” is, Draco feels confident that the destination will show itself sooner or later. For now, he’s just going to drink Harry’s favourite tea, tell him that he looks like he’s trying too hard with his hair like that and be happy that Harry Potter has returned to his life and wants to stay in it. 


	9. Growing on me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> would you fucking believe

As Draco expected, all it takes for him to get his and Harry’s hours back is to ask for them and deliver one carefully mastered, pointed look. Eichen doesn’t know in any concrete details of how Harry and Draco’s relationship looks, but Draco believes that she understands that they both mean a fair bit to each other. If she’s paid him any attention, she will have noticed his drastic change in mood before Harry, and after him, and Draco doesn’t know if it’s a contributing factor, but he doesn't care. As long as he can get what he wants, she can think whatever she wants.

Draco gets to know about things he’s never even dreamed of Harry telling him. As they slowly but steadily start in the living room to pick things up, throw things out, they talk. It usually starts off light-hearted, bantering, like they do, but more often than not they edge in on important matters. Things Harry has no need to tell him but seems to want to.

It goes a little something like this:

Draco finds an article clipping from their fourth year, Harry and Hermione are caught in a firm embrace and they scramble apart as the picture is taken. Draco finds it sticking out from between the pages of a book, and he holds it up.

“Lovey-dovey with the girl here, Potter.” And Harry looks over his shoulder, frowning first, then looking positively constipated.

“I only saved it because there aren’t very many pictures of us together,” he says, and with a strange hand gesture, he tries to wipe the smirk off of Draco's face.

“I don’t know,” Draco says and holds the paper closer to his face, “I think you look a little too handsy for just friends.”

Harry rolls his eyes, shakes his head. He doesn’t argue, just says, “She’s the closest thing I have to a sister.”

“Wouldn't know the feeling,” Draco says with a shrug, but he puts the clipping in a “save for later”-box. When he looks up, Harry’s looking at him. “What?”

“I scared her,” Harry says. He looks away and starts putting things into the “throw away”-box without really looking at them. “Real bad, I scared her real bad.”

“What? With your hideous looks and dreadful personality?”

Harry snorts. “With my wand and some very terrible curses thrown at her head.”

“Wow.”

“Wasn’t pretty.”

Draco swallows. “Did she break off contact?”

Harry shakes his head, stops his panicky throwing of shit into the box. He takes a deep breath before he announces, “No, I did.” Draco nods, doesn't ask. They start up again, moving things around, Draco holding something up and Harry pointing it in some direction, often accompanied by an uncertain growl. After a while, Draco picks up something else, comments, and the cycle continues.

For the most part of the living room, it is only Harry that falls into these sort of confessions, but as they move on to the bedroom, Draco finds himself more often than not bringing out parts of his own life he hasn't even considered dusting in many years. Like simple truths, words just spill out of his mouth, and Harry catches them without any resentment. They’re not treating the other any differently once Draco gets to know that Harry married Ginny Weasley four days after they brought down Voldemort, and divorced her four months later, and Harry doesn’t treat Draco any different when he gets to know that Draco drowned himself in illegal potions for almost two years. They listen, accept, move on. It’s like neither of them knows what else to do; they can’t exactly judge the other.

It takes time. Everything. The cleaning, the talking, the understanding. Draco doesn’t rush, and neither does Harry seem to, even if he on some days throws literally everything in the trash, and Draco actually has to go through everything again so he doesn’t get rid of something he might actually want to save. Draco thinks that they might trust each other. At least, they act like they do. With all the secrets laid bare, the constant interactions. Harry’s kept a low profile, though. He hasn’t talked about anything recent, nor how he might _feel_ about Draco. It’s okay. Draco wouldn’t want it any other way, he likes that they’re finding themselves in this sort of new setting.

Harry only once makes Draco worry. It is an off-hand remark, something about death and dying, and it’s intended as a joke, but it ticks Draco the wrong way. He doesn’t bring it up before he’s about to leave for that day, and he tries to do it subtly.

“What do you think?” he asks in the door.

“About what?” Harry asks with one hand on the handle.

“Of life.”  Subtlety is probably not one of Draco’s more prominent virtues. But Harry gives him a soft smile. He hesitates, but then reaches out a hand, and he clasps it tightly around Draco’s bicep.

“You know what?” he says “It’s growing on me.” And Draco cannot find a trace of a lie, so he worries no more.

And life grows in all directions. One day, Harry has plants. And when they haven’t died after a few weeks, Draco congratulates him and asks if there will be a naming ceremony. Harry tells him to bugger off, and the next time he has half a dozen more. One day, Harry's hair isn’t so short anymore. It’s obviously grown out over time, but suddenly Draco just notices. One day, Harry informs Draco that his best friends came to visit.

Draco kind of wants to cry because he’d hoped they would all reconnect, whatever personal feelings he might hold towards the Granger-Weasley couple. Harry had apologized, he tells Draco, but they wouldn’t hear of it. Said if anyone should be sorry, it was them. They should’ve been there. They said they didn’t understand, and that that wasn’t an excuse, so they took all the blame. Harry looks at Draco like he doesn’t understand why they said that. Draco is glad they did. Draco is secretly furious with them. For leaving their friend when he obviously needed help. Harry says, without Draco voicing this, that it hadn’t really been bad in such a way it was obvious he was ill. They’d thought that he’d just given up, become bitter, and hated them. Draco doesn’t care; he’s always thought Harry has hated him and that hasn’t stopped him from caring. But he is glad they’re back, that Harry extends his social interactions to more people than Draco, and his shrink.

It’s an anyday when the ground shifts again. Harry tells Draco thank you, and it’s out of the blue, they’re just having a tea break after finishing up one of the storage rooms, and Harry looks way too genuine about it.

“What did I do?” Draco asks because for what he can recall, the last thing he did was insult Harry’s stupid shirt.

“Just, you know,” Harry waves a hand around, “for doing this. Thank you. You didn’t have to.”

Draco clears his throat. “I wanted to.” And Harry smiles at him then, not like Draco is an answer, but like he’s a quote Harry wants to live by. It’s overwhelming and intimate, so of course, Draco completely ignores it. But it does make him think.

About what it would be like to be with him. What his lips would taste like, what his breath would sound like, what his fingers would feel like. To curl up against him before going to sleep and to wake up in his arms in the morning. Everything Draco’s craved for years, and then some. For the first time, Draco feels like maybe they’ll actually be able to be with each other, so he lets himself indulge in the thought of it. It might not at all be what they expect it to, but they want it. Draco knows Harry wants him still, and Draco sure as hell wants Harry. It’s just the matter of how, when, where. If they’re ready now. Are they? Is there even such a thing as ready? Draco doesn’t know, but he thinks about it. Likes the thought. He hopes Harry thinks of it too, as something _soon,_ and judging by the way he keeps giving Draco all these secret little smiles is a good indicator he does.


	10. Not a dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey you know what, im just gonna finish this shit because i've already written the last chapter.  
> obviously, this was very fucking difficult for me to write because it took me well over a fucking year??? but here it is, the enddddddddddddddddddddddd. thank you for keeping up with it, if you have, otherwise just thanks for reading!

Draco knocks on the door, and he’s afraid maybe it’s the wrong thing to do. Not the knocking in itself, but doing it now, at Harry’s door, when he’s not scheduled to be here. When it’s evening, after work, when it’s… a social call. As he waits for whatever will happen, he grows more and more restless. This was a stupid idea. He should leave again.

“Draco,” Harry says, slightly surprised, but there’s a small smile hiding in his eyes, and Draco thinks that he wants to be welcomed to this house, just like that, every day for the rest of his life.

“Er, hi,” Draco says.

“I didn’t expect anyone,” Harry says and looks down on his feet, on which he wears large socks with holes in them. Draco laughs quietly and Harry catches his gaze and grins. He opens the door wider and invites Draco inside without saying anything else. Draco steps in like he’s never been here before, hands folded over one another and he notes how there are shoes in the shoe stand, and jackets on the hooks. Everything that has before been on the floor, hidden away, or never actually purchased. Harry sees him watching it, and pulls the sleeve of a coat from the rack.

“Yeah,” he says, “finished this morning.” He sounds embarrassed almost, but mostly proud. Draco feels himself swell a little with pride as well. Harry has done a fantastic job.

“The whole house?” he asks.

“Everything that was left.”

Draco nods, and when Harry points to the kitchen, he does so once more. He follows Harry, and wonders again if maybe this is a bad idea. It’s one thing to have a professional relationship with Harry but any type of personal relationship might… not be what’s expected of them. But they’ve worked so hard to get to this point, they’ve been patient, there shouldn’t be anything stopping them.

There are no things in the small hallway, no books, no clothes, no trinkets and Draco can’t help but just inspect all the surfaces he’s never before seen. Harry puts the kettle on with his wand, and the small gesture makes Draco feel calm. Casual magic isn’t something Harry’s shown him much before, but now, it’s like it’s never been a problem.

They stay silent for a while. Draco thinks he’s supposed to say something, it was him who came knocking on Harry's door after all, but words seem beyond him. So, they wait for the water to boil, Draco sits down, Harry leans against the counter. They throw glances like youngsters in love, and they smile just as non-secretive when they catch the other in the act. It should make Draco feel more fidgety, but it instead makes him calmer. This is going to be okay. The water boils, Harry pours. He hands Draco a cup. They do not drink. They look at each other.

“Draco,” Harry says then, ceremonial and with loud intent. He hasn’t talked much about his rehabilitation during Draco’s latest visits, they’ve mostly just cleaned and gone about their usual banter, but Draco can see it on the whole of him that that will change now, today. He looks like he might explode with things he just wants to say. “I’m not…” he says and takes a step forward, hesitates and then continues, “I’m not completely well. You know. Maybe never will be. It’s…” He stops to take a deep breath, to ground himself. Draco waits. “The mind is a big place. It’s much easier when something is in a kidney, because the kidney is small and easy to find. A brain has more potential synapse connections than there are atoms in the universe. That’s, like, a lot. So much it’s hard to really cover all bases and even if you do, you can’t just magically fix it. Unfortunately.”

Draco nods, he knows, god, he knows. Harry looks somewhat reassured. “How are you feeling?” Draco asks.

Harry gives him a look, an evaluating one, where he considers all possible reasons for Draco to ask and the endless answers he can give. He settles back on a small sigh. “I haven't lost a day in months. I have daily check-ups with my psychiatrist. I’m… good? Better? I didn’t try to kill you when you came here unannounced? I don't know.”

“Are you on…” Draco pauses for dramatic effect. “...any potions?” He’s not yet sure where their boundaries are, what he can ask, what he should not. Maybe, he thinks, Harry would let him ask anything, answer anything. Maybe, that’s something they can at least have in the future.

For this time, Harry nods. “A couple,” he answers with a shrug. “Think that’s why I was able to go home again.”

Draco nods too. “Fair,” he says.

“Anyway,” Harry says and shakes himself a little. “Draco.”

“Harry.”

Harry smiles at that, a little flustered. They’re still getting used to it. “I know that I still have a long way to go, and you know that I haven't been this good in years. I feel… rather restless, if do say so myself. I know to take life slower than I evidently want to, because if I don’t my psychiatrist is going to have my arse. She knows in a second whether I've gone doing something elaborate I wasn’t ready for. But, you. I know you and…” he trails off, takes a breath. “If you’re…” he makes a gesture between them, “then I am too.”

Draco’s left speechless, staring at Harry. He doesn't know if he can call it a love-confession, but it’s the closest to one that Draco has ever come, and he really just doesn’t know what to do with that. Harry digs his hands deep down in his pockets, and waits Draco out, sweeping his gaze up and down, whereas Draco keeps his eyes firmly locked on Harry’s eyes. This is what he wants, but, Merlin, had he not thought it would’ve been so direct. Draco swallows, then opens his mouth.

“You have absolutely no sense of tact, Potter,” he says.

Harry spurts out a surprised laugh, then he grins. “That’s what you get for falling for a Gryffindor,” he says. And Draco neither confirms nor denies the statement. He just hums.

This time, when Harry steps up, Draco doesn’t stop him. His heart is beating out of his chest, he’s _scared,_ and he lets Harry Potter kiss him. Quick and hard, like Harry thinks maybe that’s all he’ll ever get. But when Draco sits firmly still and catches Harry’s nervous exhale in his mouth, he melts, he slides against Draco, and it’s the most damned comfortable thing Draco’s ever felt. Draco sits, Harry stands; they kiss in slow-motion, carefully finding shapes and nooks and wetness. It doesn’t exactly lack passion, but there’s not the sense of urgency in their movements as Draco had thought there’d be. It feels simple, unhurried, because what do they have to hurry for?

Harry is the one to finally break them apart, to lean back. He stands between Draco’s legs, hands lightly placed on Draco’s hips. “Draco,” he says, eyes still firmly shut and he holds up a hand. “Give me your wand.”

“Harry-”

“Just…” and he looks like he tries to explain but the words won’t come. Instead, he simply continues, “Please.”

Draco doesn’t argue; he fishes his wand out of his pocket and gently places it in Harry’s hand, tentatively watching the other man’s face. He cannot find hostility, there’s somewhat confusion and maybe fright, but as he takes a firm grip of the wand’s handle, his features soften. It’s a good sign, but Draco’s not sure why he needed that sign in the first place. Then Harry opens his eyes. God, they’re really green this close; Draco feels like he can see everything in there. The universe. The whole twenty-plus years of Potter’s life and then some. Every feeling ever felt.

“Hey,” Harry says, offering the wand back like he isn’t the person of which the world spins around. Draco wants to laugh at his own hypocrisy, but instead, he silently accepts the wand and gives Harry another questioning look. “I just,” Harry says and looks to the ground for a second. Embarrassed. “Just wanted to make sure.”

“Sure of what?”

With a small, sputtering exhale he answers, “That I wasn’t dreaming?”

Draco smirks. “You dream about kissing me a lot, Potter?”  

“Enough,” Harry says and then there’s a smirk on his lips as well. It doesn’t matter if it’s an answer or a command, Draco leans in and captures his mouth once more anyway. Harry gave himself a chance, and now he’s giving Draco one. Draco isn’t going to waste it.

**Author's Note:**

> Like my stuff? [Buy me a coffee!](https://www.buymeacoffee.com/mee4ever)


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